


Lilies and Birds

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Grief, POV Outsider, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange party leaves Gotham abuzz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilies and Birds

All of Gotham was buzzing about it the next morning.  Oh, it wasn't front-page news;  Bruce Wayne's antics were never that shocking.  But the matrons and the gossipmongers still enjoyed the latest example of his erratic rich-boy behavior.  Tongues were clucked and eyebrows raised in scandalized disapproval over the spoiled prince's most recent outburst...

: : :

I was there, Alice, and I can tell you, it was very odd.  The party was the usual stuffy affair:  champagne, tuxedos, candlelight and string quartets, the works.  Bruce Wayne showed up without a date this time, accompanied by his young ward--no, his young son, didn't he adopt the boy recently?  Yes, I think he did--and some friend of the family's, a reporter from Metropolis, no-one in particular.  The evening was going so well, when Mrs. Parker-White brought up his other boy, that circus kid he took in.

"Wasn't young Dick supposed to be here tonight too?"  she asked curiously.

Bruce smiled indulgently.  "He took it into his head a few days ago to do some mountain climbing, so it was off to the French Alps."  He waved a hand airily.  "You know Dick."

Conrad Huffington--no, not Lydia's son, one of the Maplewood Huffingtons--grinned knowingly.  "If I know Dick--and I do indeed know Dick--there's probably some pretty French kitten on his arm as well."  Everyone laughed at that, because you know it's true, that silly boy's dated half the women in Gotham.  "At least he's having more fun that I am!"

Mrs. Parker-White sniffed.  "I must say, Mr. Wayne, and please don't take this personally, that you spoil those boys of yours entirely too much.  Jetting to France and neglecting social obligations is hardly correct behavior."

Bruce Wayne took a long sip of his drink.  Ice rattled in his glass, and his other boy--what is his name?  Yes, Tim, that's it--stepped forward.  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Parker-White, but on behalf of Bruce I must protest.  He's always been a good father to both Dick and I.  He raised Dick from a little boy and raised him well.  Please, ma'am, I hope you'll take that back."

Mrs. Parker-White looked a little taken aback.  "Well!  I do beg your pardon, then, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce Wayne smiled again, winningly.  "No offense taken, Mrs. Parker-White.  Dick's always followed his own path, you know?  Always a free spirit."

It was a minor exchange, and the conversations moved on, but then after a while Jillian LaMonte decided that would be a good time to repeat some of the latest superhero gossip.  It's always a bit declasse to talk about the costumed set at high-class affairs, but you know Jillian!  Such an arriviste, and it just always shows.

"So tell me, Timmy," she said, fluttering her eyelashes--yes, at that boy, the minx--"What do you think about that handsome young Nightwing fellow being killed like that in New York?"

The boy glanced over at his adopted father--he was probably nervous about being flirted with by a woman practically old enough to be his mother, after all!  "I think it's a shame," he said.  Bruce didn't seem to be paying attention to Jillian's questionable behavior, though.  He just reached over and picked one of those big lilies out of the arrangement on the table nearby.  Well, I thought it was odd too, but I figured he'd probably paid for them anyway, so who was I to complain?

"I heard he was shot," said Conrad Huffington.  "In the stomach.  That he didn't die for a while."

"You know what I heard?" put in Jillian.  "I heard the Batman got there just before he died.  My uncle's a New York detective and he was there...He was!" she protested loudly when someone scoffed.

"Aw, how could Batman get from Gotham to New York that fast?" said Conrad disbelievingly.  "I mean, he's cool and all, but he can't fly."

Bruce Wayne was kind of absent-mindedly ripping that lily to bits, the petals were all shredded up and stuff.  Some people just have no appreciation for beauty.  I mean, if he was so bored with the conversation he could have introduced a topic that interested him.  Honestly.  That reporter fellow with him took the flower away from him and put the poor mangled thing back in the vase.  The playboy went to pick another one out and his friend put his hand on his arm and he stopped.  He looked like he was trying to shake off his friend's hand and he couldn't--but I'd think someone who plays that much polo could probably manage that, don't you?  He was probably just acting for some reason.  Who knows with the fabulously wealthy?  At that level they're really hardly even human anymore.

Anyway, when he couldn't get at another flower, Bruce Wayne started to laugh a little.  It was really quiet, but I'll tell you, Alice, it gave me the creeps.  It didn't sound--like his usual laugh.  Then he lifted his glass and addressed the room.  His voice carried really well.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast tonight.  Maybe you all think it's to the memory of Nightwing, because Nightwing was a hero."  He spat the word out like it was poison.  "No.  No, ladies and gentlemen, I'm going to propose a toast to my son, Dick Grayson, who's off carousing in the Alps as we speak, young and happy and probably banging some French babe in a hot tub."  There was a murmur of reaction to his coarse words, and the boy, Tim, stepped forward.

"Bruce, please, let's just...let's just go home," he said.  He sounded really worried.  I hate to think what kind of craziness he has to put up with in that creepy Manor every day.

Bruce just shook his head, really hard.  "No, Tim.  Because I want everyone here to know--" He stopped and caught his breath a little--"I want everyone here to know that my son Dick is a real hero, more real than any stupid freak in a tight costume.  He's the real thing.  Living life to the fullest.  My son."

I was close enough to see his eyes right then, Alice.  They were--well.  There was something not right about them, I don't know what.  No, I can't describe it.

I'd just...rather not.

Everyone was staring at him.  I mean, we're all used to random, rambling, drunken speeches from Brucie, right?  But this was a whole new kind of strange.  I wonder if he's gotten into drugs or something?  Those poor boys of his--what a role model.  You can't really be surprised that the older one turned out so irresponsible. 

Oh no, I'm not done yet, even.  That reporter put his hand on his shoulder again and he twitched.  "I can't--" I heard him say, almost like a sob, or like he couldn't breathe.  "Clark, I can't--"

"You can," his friend said, and he raised his glass.  "To Dick." 

And Bruce kind of laughed and clicked his glass against the other glass, so hard I thought it might break.  "To Dick," he said, and drained it.  He put his glass down and smiled again at everyone.  "I'm sorry, good folk of Gotham," he said, just as smooth as you please.  "I hope I didn't spoil your evening."  His eyes were really weird--I mean, he'd sounded like he was crying just a moment ago, but they were like chips of china then, all bright blue and hard. 

And the rest of the evening went fine after that, Bruce Wayne was his usual charming self and all, but no one could quite forget how he had kind of freaked out there.  I think I was the only person who heard him as they started to leave the party;  the three of them walked by the big flower arrangement and he reached out and touched the lily--the one that he'd ripped up before--really gently, and he said, "My little bird." 

And the guy with him, the Metropolis guy, said, "I know, Bruce."  And they walked with him out of the room.

No, I don't know what the connection is between lilies and birds either, Alice.  I tell you, there's something not entirely right about that man.

: : :

When the news came a few weeks later that Dick Grayson had been killed in a hiking accident, people remembered Bruce Wayne's outburst at the party and wondered:  had they had a falling-out?  Had Grayson committed suicide over there in Europe?  But no one ever puzzled out what was behind it all, and no one ever linked the deaths of Nightwing and Dick Grayson.

Which was the point of the whole charade, after all.


End file.
